Got another Black Knight post up and reading through the posts I missed now! Just as an FYI from this Saturday I'm going to Sri Lanka for a work trip and won't be back until the following Friday. I'm not sure how much free time I will have while I'm working over there, but I'll try to keep on top of reading everything and if I get a spare moment I'll try and get a post written up!
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Volume 1 - Beggar Knight
Childhood Memories
The arid desert heat drew beads of sweat down Duncan's forehead. He had been awake for a few hours now, sitting outside the small tent the Bedouins had been gracious enough to provide him after the feast. He struggled to sleep the night before, he could only think it was a side effect of being asleep for a thousand years. He wondered if he'd ever have a good nights sleep with this much to catch up on.
He rolled a sleeve up and rubbed his wrist. Omar hadn't held back in their fight, that was certain, he felt like someone had been smashing his forearms with a hammer. He looked up at the sky, he had taken off his chainmail before the feast last night but even his tunic felt too hot in this weather. He wondered how the tribe managed to keep so cool in their long, flowing robes.
People had been beginning to wake up and start their day for a while now, all the while Duncan had been deep in thought, trying to remember as much as he could about his past, if anything at all. Everything still felt like a ghost to him. Faint shimmers of faces and voices appeared in his mind like lightning bolts if he thought hard enough. Nothing substantial though, nothing to grasp onto.
His trance was broken by the approaching Mehdi, that same knowing smile playing on his lips as he carried over a bundle of robes.
"Good morning, Duncan." He spoke. "I hope I am not disturbing you."
"Not at all, Mehdi." Duncan replied, rising to his feet and brushing sand from his legs. "Your people's hospitality has been great, but I really must be on my way, Merlin awaits me."
Mehdi shook his head.
"I'm afraid it's not so simple as that, my friend. Merlin did not just ask us to find you, but also to help you..." He searched for the word. "Acclimatise to the world as it is now. This camp is one thing, but the world beyond it is another." He handed over the stark black robes to Duncan. "Here, put these on. You must be baking in that old tunic."
Duncan nodded, retreating into his tent before emerging resplendent in the fine robes. He smiled at Mehdi, already feeling cooler as the robes worked to combat the heat of the oppressive sun. Mehdi allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips.
"We'll make a Bedouin of you yet, Duncan. Come, Merlin told us you are a great warrior. If you are to fulfill your end of the contract I shall have to teach you how to fire a Jezail."
Mehdi led Duncan to their camels and the two mounted their animals. They rode lazily under the sun for an hour or so, heading in the direction of a few boulders marring the horizon with their presence.
"Mehdi, much has been said about this 'contract' between your tribe and Merlin. What exactly is my end of the deal?"
Mehdi didn't turn to acknowledge his question. He smoothed his moustache against his face.
"All will be revealed later, my friend. For now, let us focus on the task at hand." Duncan nodded, albeit with a hint of suspicion coursing through his veins.
They arrived at the boulders and dismounted, Mehdi sliding two rifles from the saddle of his camel and pointing Duncan to the top of the boulders before moving over to the space far in front of them. He planted a few sticks into the ground and slid a few empty cans on top of the sticks to serve as targets.
Mehdi joined Duncan on top of the boulders, handing him one of the rifles and crouching next to him. Duncan inspected the weapon, not quite understanding what the contraption was.
"This was what you used to kill Ali yesterday. Is it some sort of wizard's staff? I have only seen Merlin conjure such explosions from thin air."
Mehdi smiled.
"A magic of sorts, my friend, but one that requires no wizard to cast. These are our rifles. Unfortunately they are not as advanced as the type you will see in the wider world, but they serve their purpose." He slid the ram rod out from underneath the rifles barrel and instructed Duncan to do the same. "We used these to fight the Ottomans during the second world war. Handy rifles made handier with our knowledge of the land." He unhooked a bag of powder and another of ammo from his belt and placed them inbetween the two. "We load the rifle with these small, metal balls and then fill it with gunpowder. The gun does the rest." He explained, demonstrating just what he had said before resting the rifle against his shoulder and aiming down at the targets he had set up. "Then you just point at your target and squeeze the trigger." In an instant there was a loud bang and the noise of a tin can being hit and flying off it's stick over in the distance.
Duncan almost jumped back at the noise, looking down at the rifle. He'd never been much of an archer, much preferring close-quarters combat, but this device surely could change the tide of many battles. He attempted to copy Mehdi, loading the rifle and firing, but missing completely.
"Keep trying, my friend. No one hits the can on his first try." Duncan nodded, loading the rifle again as he began to speak.
"Mehdi, I can only assume the reason you're teaching me this is because our contract involves bloodshed. I am capable and willing to fulfill my end of the deal if it is for a just and honourable cause, but my only request is a sword. Have you have any idea what happened to my Ebony Blade?"
Mehdi just shook his head. "Merlin had mentioned such an artefact. We combed the desert for days searching for it, but nothing was found. The desert has a funny way of getting such things lost."
Duncan cursed under his breath. "Perhaps it is for the best. Still, I should need a weapon I feel more comfortable with should we be facing danger."
"This can be arranged."
Mehdi had made sure to bring Duncan back well before nightfall. The knight had taken to the rifle rather quickly, all things considered. He was no crack shot, but he was managing to at least glance off the cans consistently by the end of their trip. Mehdi had given Duncan the rifle as a gift and promised to speak with the Sheik about arranging an appropriate weapon as soon as possible.
They dismounted as they neared the camp, leading their camels in and tying them outside a nearby tent as they made their way in for dinner. A group of children ran by laughing, play-fighting with some sticks. The sight pierced through Duncan like a blade. He felt a surge of emotion and enlightenment so harsh it almost knocked him off his feet. He could remember—remember something so far back it was like a dream.
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan with a hollow ache in his chest. He had loved that small, simple life, and though the memory was bittersweet, it brought a smile to his face. He wondered what had become of his family, of Alasdair, and of the parents who had shaped him into the man he had become.
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan standing beside Mehdi, who noticed the distant look in his eyes. They began to walk toward the large communal tent where dinner would soon be served. The scent of spiced meat and fresh bread filled the air, pulling Duncan back to the present.
Mehdi glanced over at him, his brow furrowing with concern. "You seemed far away just now, Duncan. Is everything alright?"
Duncan hesitated before offering a small smile. "Yes, just… remembering something from long ago. I'm fine."
They continued walking, the lively sounds of the camp around them contrasting sharply with the quiet, haunting echoes of Duncan's past. As they entered the tent, Duncan pushed the memories to the back of his mind, knowing that whatever lay ahead, he would need to stay focused on the present. But the images of the highlands, his family, and that simple, happy time lingered just beneath the surface. He hoped more of his memories would come back soon, he still felt so lost.
Orphan X
Laura was mentally beating herself up over the Herald fight. She didn't contribute a whole lot to toppling the big guy, her stealth based approach left too much time for her friends to get hurt when she could've been distracting the big guy in time for Marauder to get the helmet. It's not as if she couldn't recover from anything the big idiot threw her way.
No point in dwelling on it. Next time she'd be in guns blazing if she needed to. Time to move on.
She left her room and made her way to the living room. The news that Raven had been abducted was hitting the team hard. She was a valued member of the team and one Laura had leaned on when she'd first joined up. Not one to show her emotions on her sleeve, Laura kept her mouth shut as she made a coffee and sat on a chair near the couch to watch Gary and Gridlock play their game.
Mr. Terrific
Volume 1 - First Prototype
Criss Cross
Michael's fingers tapped away on the keyboard as the glow of the multiple monitors in front of him illuminated his serious expression in the dark room. He wasn't going to let his still-healing arm slow him down. The Gazzos wouldn't wait for him just because he wasn't at 100%. They had been a thorn in Metropolis' side for far too long, and if the police weren't going to step up, he would. He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought as he considered all the possible ways to get a lead on them. His mind began replaying the events of his first night. He couldn't afford another mistake like that. He had made it out alive, but just barely.
With a deep breath, he leaned forward and began typing again. His fingers a flurry as lines of code filled the screen in front of him. Before long he had tapped into the city's surveillance camera network. The Gazzo crime family was careful, but nobody was perfect. There had to be a trail somewhere, something he could use to bring them down. He had already bypassed the firewall of a few security cameras near the site of the botched gun deal, hoping to catch a glimpse of any movement leading up to it. But now, he was expanding his search, broadening his net across the entire city.
He sifted through hours of footage, trying to spot any small clue or trail they had left. His eye was drawn to the monitor on his left, displaying the feed from one of his T-Spheres. It floated around his apartment conducting diagnostic checks and scanning as much as it could. He was proud of the little inventions for sure, but there was always room for improvement. Sure they had gotten the flight system working, but had he not regained his steely resolve and managed to signal for them to catch him he might have been six feet under. He couldn’t shake the memory of falling, the helplessness as gravity took hold and his life hung by a thread. He needed more control, faster response times. He and Alex had discussed the idea of implementing an AI component to the Spheres. One that would allow them to make decisions on their own and react to situations as they unfolded. A pipe dream at the moment. Their resources were stretched thin as it was and AI wasn't exactly the most profitable venture at the moment.
He raised a mug of coffee up to his lips as he brought up a news website on the monitor to his right. A few clicks and the face of Bolivar Trask was on his screen, his announcement of The Sentinel Program hadn't escaped Michael's attention. For a moment the thought of stealing the tech ran through his mind, but he shook this from his head. His little robots were no match for the hulking giants standing behind Trask and he'd have much worse than a broken arm if those things caught him.
He clicked onto the next video, and Tony Stark appeared on screen with his usual flair. Michael didn't usually pay much attention to the playboy antics of the billionaire. But tonight, Stark was flaunting something that couldn’t be ignored: the War Machine suits. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. These suits were far beyond anything he and Alex could create in their small flat, let alone Trask's AI automatons. The thought of such advanced tech in the wrong hands made his stomach twist. The world was changing fast, and the stakes were higher than ever. But he couldn’t afford distractions. The Gazzo family was still out there, and they wouldn’t wait for him to catch up.
His thoughts were interrupted by a flicker on one of the screens. He rewound the footage and leaned in closer. There, at the edge of the frame, was a familiar figure—one of the Gazzo enforcers, Fredo Frossi, slipping into a nondescript sedan. The timestamp showed it was recorded just an hour before the gun deal. Michael's eyes narrowed as he began tracing the car’s route through the city, jumping from one camera feed to another. The sedan made several seemingly random turns, clearly trying to shake any potential tails, but Michael easily kept track as he rewound and fast forwarded any footage. Eventually, the car pulled into a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, tucked away in a forgotten district.
"Bingo."
He attempted to tap into the camera feeds around the warehouse. No dice. All of them were encrypted and it would take far too long for him to crack the encryption. Instead he tapped into one across the street and zoomed in as far as he could. The place was more like a fortress than a warehouse, it was covered in cameras and he could see rough looking Italians all over the place. He needed to be smart about this, a confrontation with that many guys would no doubt result in a trip to the ER at best or the undertaker at worst.
He pushed back from his desk and grabbed his jacket, wincing slightly as his shoulder reminded him it wasn't fully healed. Alex looked up from his own workstation. "You heading out man? If you're going to a shop can you pick me up some iced coffee? Think I'm going to be up all night with this code."
"I'll try to remember. I found one of the Gazzos safe houses." Michael replied. Alex stopped typing, peering around the side of his monitor to look Michael in the eye as he continued speaking. "I'm going to go and check it out, see what I can find. If I can get inside maybe I can figure out how they're getting their stuff into the city."
Alex frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea, bro? Your arm is still banged up from the other night. The brace is good, but I doubt it would survive you throwing punches with it on, or falling down another fire escape. Maybe we should take a step back, work on upgrading the Spheres first. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with here."
Michael shook his head. "If I wait, they’ll move everything, and we’ll be back to square one. Besides, I’m not going in guns blazing. I’ll be in and out before they even know I’m there."
Alex sighed. He could tell from the tone of Michael's voice that there was no point in arguing. He could be a stubborn bastard at times, for better and for worse. "Just… be careful, alright? We’re not exactly swimming in cash right now. I can’t afford to design a new arm brace if you end up breaking something else. And god knows how I'd do the accounting around here if you get yourself killed."
Michael smirked, grabbing a small case of equipment and slinging it over his good shoulder. "I’ll be fine. Keep your phone on you, though, just in case."
He left his apartment and started walking down the street. The sun had long since set and the city's nightlife buzzed around him. Drunk couples and loud frat boys spilled their way out of bars laughing and bickering. Michael did his best to blend into the crowd as he made his way to the industrial district, his mind already trying to work out an infiltration plan as he got closer. Ideally he'd go completely unnoticed, but worst case scenario he could use his Spheres to provide a bit of controlled chaos if he had to make a sudden escape.
The warehouse came into sight and Michael ducked into a nearby alley. He lowered his equipment case to the floor and clicked it open to reveal his T-Spheres, now fully charged and ready for action. He spread the nanogel on his face and as his eyes flickered red the T-Spheres came to life and floated up in front of him. The interface on his mask fully loaded, bringing up a HUD that displayed their status and the surrounding environment. He ran through a final systems check, ensuring everything was in order.
The Spheres darted off, moving in perfect synchronization as they began their sweep of the perimeter. Michael stayed low, creeping along the building’s edge as he kept one eye on the security feeds being relayed back to his mask. The guards were well-armed but sloppy, more interested in their conversations than their surroundings. It would be easy to slip past them—at least, that’s what he hoped.
He paused behind a dumpster near a side door. Waiting for two guards to finish their conversation and move away from it. He quickly lurched over to the door, trying the handle before noticing an electronic keypad on the wall. Electronic yes, but nothing too sophisticated. He stood eye level with it and used his mask to zoom in on each of the keys, noting small indents on specific keys that had been pressed more than others. 4 Numbers, 24 possible combinations. He glanced left and right, he'd need to be quick. Seconds felt like hours as he pressed the keys over and over in different orders, every nerve in his body on high alert.
Finally, the door clicked open. Michael slipped inside, the T-Spheres hovering close behind as he moved through the dimly lit corridors. The warehouse was vast, filled with crates and equipment, men sat on makeshift chairs playing cards on makeshift tables. He moved silently, his footsteps barely making a sound as he avoided being spotted and approached a door at the far end of the hall. It was slightly ajar, and he could hear voices inside.
"We need to tighten security after that last fuck-up. The boss is gonna have my head if something like this happens again. I don’t want any more surprises. Move the shipments up tonight. And find out who the hell this guy is. I want him dead before he becomes a bigger problem."
Michael’s breath caught in his throat. This was bigger than he had anticipated. The Gazzos were spooked, and wanted him dead. He needed to get that information and get out, but he couldn’t risk being seen. He glanced at the T-Spheres, their silent hum reassuring him. With a few quick commands, he sent them to work and they floated over to a laptop open on the table in the room, uploading the data from the documents while he kept watch.
It was a tense few minutes, but finally, the download was complete. Michael pulled back, carefully making his way back through the warehouse, his heart still pounding. As he slipped through the door and back into the night, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He had done it, and this time without any broken bones. But as he moved away from the warehouse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The Gazzo family was planning something big, and he had only scratched the surface. The real challenge was still ahead, and he needed to be ready for whatever came next.
For now, though, it was time to head back to the apartment and go through the data he had gathered. The investigation was far from over.
Carmine Gazzo sat in the back of the dark, smokey bar in his private booth. His tall, lean form was relaxed, though his mind was anything but. He sipped on a glass of water, rage bubbled underneath the surface but putting this on display was bad for his health, and bad for business. So, he kept his emotions tightly in check, his face a mask of composure, even as his mind was deep in thought about the vigilante threatening his operations.
His eyes shot over to the door at the end of the bar as a slight man wearing a perfectly tailored suit made his way over to the mob boss. As he got closer, Carmine noticed an eyepatch underneath a pair of dark sunglasses. The man took a seat opposite him. To the wider world, he was an unknown, a man who didn't need headlines to prove his worth. But to those in the know, he was Crossfire, a cold and efficient assassin known for his discretion.
Crossfire didn't waste any time with small talk. "You've got a problem," he stated, his voice low and steady, cutting through the noise around them. "I can solve it."
Carmine looked back at the man, his fingers drumming on the table as he took another sip of water. "Someone has been messing with my operations." He said, his voice tinged with spite. "A man. Don’t know who he is yet, but he’s been sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Made off with something from my warehouse last night. Took out a few of my guys last time he showed up. We think he's in his early 20s, supposedly has these floating metal things he uses. Don't know his name yet, nut I don’t need to know his name to know he’s becoming a problem."
Crossfire barely reacted. He had heard stories like this before. The only thing out of the ordinary was the gadgets, but that was no concern for a killer like him. "What do you want done?"
Gazzo leaned forward slightly, his expression still cool. "I want him dead, and I want it done quietly. No attention, no mess. Then you recover the body and we can send a message to any other freaks who want to fuck with us. I don't care about his little toys, sooner or later he's gotta slip, and when he does I want you to be there to put a bullet in him."
"Sounds like he's already slipped if he’s come after your warehouse. You’ve got a location?"
Carmine nodded, sliding over a piece of paper with an address written on it. "One of my warehouses on the edge of town. Security cameras all over the joint, but we couldn't make out his face. Got word from one of my Capo's he'd stolen some documents from us. Whoever this guy is, he’s getting bolder. He’s not just watching us anymore. He’s getting inside."
Crossfire smiled. "I’ve taken down bigger targets with less. He won’t even know I’m coming. By the time he realizes what's happening, it'll already be over."
Carmine slid a slim black envelope across the table. "Half now. The rest when the job’s done."
Crossfire slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket without a word. He stood up, his movements deliberate and fluid, every step calculated. "Consider it done," he said before turning and heading toward the exit.
Volume 1 - Beggar Knight
A Test of Strength and Honour
Duncan watched as the sun began to set, the camp emerging before them. An army of tents made from various exquisite fabrics had small lanterns hanging down from their entrances, almost mirroring the sea of stars that enveloped the night sky above them. Mehdi had cradled his rifle the entire journey here, and Duncan noticed him checking over it and testing the sights as the sun began to sink behind the horizon. The darkness. He had met only two people since waking up and both of them seemed terrified of whatever happened at night in this desert.
"You must meet with the Sheikh. Merlin's contract is not just for your benefit and I fear he will test you before allowing you to fill your end of the bargain. I will vouch for you, but he is a harsh man. Fear not my friend if you must face the night, you will not do it alone."
Duncan shifted in his seat. Nothing ever came easy.
Duncan’s muscles tensed as they approached the sprawling camp, a glimmering array of colorful tents. He could feel the weight of the desert's silence, only broken by the distant rustle of fabric in the wind. The people here moved with purpose, and all eyes seemed to track Duncan as he dismounted from his camel.
Mehdi nodded toward a larger tent at the center of the camp. "The Sheikh awaits. He is a man of tradition, and honor matters here more than anything. Show him respect, and all may go smoothly."
Duncan, despite his fatigue, straightened his posture as he took in the full spectacle of the camp. This was a place that thrived on tradition, on ideals, and honour. It reminded him faintly of the court of Arthur, or what he could remember of it. He nodded towards Mehdi, signalling to him he was ready for whatever test they had prepared for him.
As they approached a guard standing post outside the large tent opened up one of its entrance flaps, revealing an opulent interior. Cushions lined the ground, and lanterns cast flickering golden light across rich tapestries that adorned the walls. The scent of burning incense filled the air and guards stood watch with their hands on their weapons, eyes suspicious and alert.
At the center, seated on a lavish cushion surrounded by his warriors was the Sheikh. He was an imposing man—tall, broad-shouldered, and with eyes sharp as a hawk’s. His beard was thick and black, streaked with silver, and his robes were pristine and decorated with intricate embroidery. His eyes tracked Duncan like he was prey as he approached.
As the two came to a stop in front of the Sheikh, Mehdi stepped forward, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and bowing slightly. "Sheikh Omar, I have brought the knight as promised. He is here to fulfill his part of the contract."
The Sheikh's eyes narrowed as his gaze shifted to Duncan. He stroked his beard in thought before speaking. "A knight you say?" His voice was deep and commanded respect. "You look more like a beggar in borrowed armour. In my land, a title is not enough to prove your worth. Strength, not stories, will be the only thing that can save you out in the night."
A murmur of laughter erupted from the crowd of warriors that sat in various parts of the tent. Duncan remained resolute, but he could feel every eye on him, weighing him, judging him. He knew better than to protest the insult. After all, maybe the statement had more truth than he'd like to admit. In his time under the sand he'd lost everything, all of his equipment, even the Ebony blade. He was no more a knight than Mehdi.
The Sheikh allowed the silence to continue on for another few uncomfortable moments, struggling to maintain his neutral expression as a playful smile broke onto his face. He rose his hand and beckoned over one his men in the corner. A giant man rose from his seated position, towering over those around him as he lumbered his way in front of Duncan. His arms and legs were as thick as tree trunks, with scars like roots tracing their way across any visible part of skin he had showing.
"If you wish to prove your worth, you will fight Omar. He is one of my finest warriors. No weapons will be permitted. Only then shall we see if your courage matches your title, Beggar Knight."
The murmur of the crowd grew louder, some of the warriors chuckling among themselves. Duncan stood his ground, his eyes locking with Omar's. The warrior’s grin widened as he sized Duncan up, he was two, maybe three heads taller than the knight.
The two turned to leave the tent to begin the test in the middle of the camp. As Duncan began to leave he glanced over to Mehdi, who gave him a slight nod and a wry smile. This was a test, a chance to earn their respect and prove his place among them.
As they reached the centre of the camp a crowd gathered. Farmers, women, children, and of course the Sheikh and his warriors all formed a large circle around the two. Echoes of giggling and chatter reverberated through the desert as the two stood staring each other down, bathed in the light of the campfires and the moon overhead. The Sheikh took his place on an elevated seat and with one word the brawl started.
"Begin."
Without hesitation, Omar rushed at Duncan like a rhino. His speed was surprising for a man his size, but his dexterity was not. Duncan managed to sidestep the initial charge, his reflexes rapidly coming back to him after his slumber as the adrenaline pumped its way into his bloodstream.
But Omar was relentless. Duncan could understand why he was one of the Sheikh's best warriors, he would have made a stalwart ally in the fight against Mordred all those years ago. He did his best to dodge or block the thunderous punches Omar rained down upon him. He could feel his arms bruising and his guard weakening as he waited for the opportune moment to strike. Just then, Omar overextended his arm on a wide swing attempting to get around Duncan's guard, Duncan bobbed and weaved the punch, circling around the giant as he drove a heavy hook into his ribs, causing Omar to stumble backwards, his hand instinctively clutching the affected area.
The crowd gasped in surprise, and for a second a look of shock and anger spread on Omar's face, before being replaced with an even wider grin than before. Finally, a challenge.
"Not bad for a beggar." Omar said, his voice a low growl. They locked eyes again. Duncan was smiling too now. It had been too long since he'd had a good fight.
The battle continued, Omar's brute force becoming less of an obstacle as Duncan started relieing on his agility and speed more. He kept mobile, attempting to tire Omar out before delivering a knockout blow. He could feel his muscles burning as he moved. If this went on any longer he might collapse, but he pushed through every ache and pain.
Finally, his chance. Omar, breathing heavily now, lunged wildly at him. Duncan dodged once more, grabbing the huge arm and using Omar's momentum to trip and throw him to the ground. He quickly held his foot on his throat, preventing him from rising as Omar lay on the ground, that grin never leaving his face. The crowd fell silent for a moment, unsure whether they should cheer or attack the knight for besting their guardian. The silence was broken by the Sheikh, laughing as he parted the crowd and approached, clapping all the while.
"Good, good, Beggar knight! No one has bested Omar in years, and certainly not a foreigner." He slid a dagger sheathed in an ornate scabbard from his belt and handed it to Duncan. Duncan held the knife in his hand. "Now, as is tradition, I give you my blade to finish the battle. Kill Omar and you will be one of us, we cannot allow one of our best to be defeated by a foreigner, even one who is a knight."
Duncan's brow furrowed at the order. He held the sheathed dagger in his hand as he looked down at Omar, whose grin was now replaced with a look of shock and pleading. Duncan's eyes glanced down at the hilt of the dagger, and he slowly unsheathed the blade, staring at the metal as it gleamed under the light of the moon. Intricate patterns decorated the dagger, images of battles long since fought and animals ridden by mighty warriors told a grand story Duncan didn't know. Before the knife was fully unsheathed, he slid it back into its scabbard. Looking up at the Sheikh with fury in his eyes he tossed the weapon onto the sand in front of the desert leader. He removed his foot from Omar's throat and stepped back.
"I will not. Your man fought valiantly and it would not be right to murder him in cold blood. I would give my life as forfeit before following this crude request, Sheikh."
The crowd gasped once more, and a rumble of conversation broke out. Duncan stood tall, catching a glimpse of Mehdi once more, that same wry smile playing on his lips as he stood, arms crossed watching what was unfolding. The Sheikh allowed the noise to go on for a while longer before he raised his hand and everyone fell silent. Another few moments passed before he spoke.
"Beggar knight, I give you the mercy of sparing your life in exchange for his and instead you would spit upon our millenia old tradition? So be it. The Bedouin are honor bound to Merlin's contract. But Omar must die." He picked his dagger up from the ground, quickly unsheathing it and thrusting the blade into Omar's stomach. The giant let out a painful gasp as his eyes widened and he fell to the floor clutching his midsection. One last death rattle escaped his lips as his eyes closed and he fell to the floor.
Sensing what was about to happen, the Sheikh's guards leapt onto Duncan before he could finish leaping at the Sheikh. Duncan was an inch away from the Sheikh's face struggling against the robed men holding him back. The Sheikh regarded him with disdain, before laughter eminating from the ground next to them broke the tension. The Sheikh let a smile pass his lips, before joining in on the laughter as he helped Omar up, the familiar wide grin on his face as he looked back at Duncan's confused expression.
"Beggar Knight," the Sheikh said, chuckling as he showed the retractable dagger, pressing its tip against his palm to reveal the hidden trick. "A small test of your character. You are strong, yes, but now we see that you are also honorable."
Duncan let out a slow breath, his tense muscles beginning to relax as the Sheikh’s smile remained. The guards released him, and Omar clapped a firm hand on his shoulder, his laughter growing louder.
"You, my friend, are truly a great warrior!" Omar exclaimed warmly. "It’s been too long since I’ve had such entertainment! Not since Mehdi outshot me in a hunting contest."
Duncan glanced at Mehdi, who gave him a knowing smile and slight nod. The crowd dispersed as the Sheikh led Duncan away from the center of the camp. “Come,” he said, gesturing towards a larger tent near the outskirts of the camp, "Tonight, we feast. You’ve proven your strength, now we shall see how well you fare against our wine."
Got my first Black Knight post up, still working on the final version of the banner so may change that in the next day or so!
Volume 1 - Beggar Knight
Awakenings
Darkness. Eternal darkness as far as the eye could see. All Duncan could see was darkness.
When his slumber first began, his dreams were filled with memories of adventure and camaraderie with his friends. Visions of Camelot and riding through the forests of Albion. Echoes of laughter at banquets and moments of bravery during battle. The last thing he saw was his battle, and then darkness. He didn't know how long it had been since his world was filled with endless nothingness; he could barely remember the faces or voices of his friends. Would this ever end? Would he ever escape this labyrinth?
...Duncan...
A voice? Who was that? It seemed familiar. He couldn't quite tell who it was though...
...Duncan...
Finally a break in the silence. He was sure he knew this voice, was it friend or foe? Perhaps a ghost haunting him from his past?
...Duncan...
Merlin! It was Merlin! It had to be! Suddenly a sea of relief washed over Duncan. He was safe, or at least safer than he was alone in the darkness.
"Merlin!" Duncan's voice echoed into the void, his desperation clear. "Please, I can't wake up!"
The blackness seemed to pulse around him, as if reacting to his plea. Straining his mind, he tried to picture the old wizard’s face, the mentor who had guided him through so many trials. But the image was elusive, just out of reach. The darkness was relentless, trying to pull him back into its depths, but the voice of Merlin gave him something to hold onto, a lifeline in the void.
"Duncan…" The voice was clearer now, cutting through the haze. "Awaken, Duncan… it is time."
A bomb exploded in his mind. It was like watching the big bang from a front-row seat. Suddenly the darkness was overwhelmed and crushed by infinite light. Duncan could feel his senses returning, he tried to gasp for air, but instead of air, sand filled his windpipe.
"Merin...Please help me..."
"Duncan, your time has finally come, my knight. The world you know is gone, replaced by one made of steel and glass. But your destiny has finally revealed itself one more. Awaken, sir knight and find me. We have much work to do."
Duncan's eyes shot open and were met with blinding sand. He began to tear his way upwards through the endless sea of sediment, clawing to grab any sort of handhold as he felt his skin cut and tear against the harsh grains. Every movement was agony, his muscles screaming in protest after centuries of disuse. Where was his armour to protect him? All he had was his tunic, trousers and chainmail. His skin burned against the hot sand as it made its best attempts to drag him back down.
With a final desperate lunge he shot his arm up and broke the surface, and as if answering his last burst of energy a hand grabbed his and pulled him free from his underground tomb.
Ali adjusted his robe as his camel trudged along through the harsh desert heat. He reached down behind him to his pack, brushing his hand against the old, rusted service revolver as he grabbed his canteen and raised it to his mouth, unwrapping his face covering and taking a big swig of the precious liquid.
His eyes scanned the horizon, flat and featureless as far as the eye could see. Traveling like this, he sometimes wished for the harsh climbs of the dunes, just to break the monotony of the horizon. It taunted him with mirages, presenting an endless sea just out of reach. Finally his sight narrowed on a ruin in the distance. A smile grew on his face.
He approached the ruin and dismounted his camel. He raised a hand and began stroking his chin as he surveyed the ground around him. What was it they had told him? Look for the pillar in the sand and dig two widths left? He didn't have the time or care to be out here all day. God knows if he managed to save this fool by nightfall it would be even more of a nightmare getting him back. Ali retrieved the compact shovel from his pack and flipped down the head. A deep sigh marked the start of his digging.
An hour later and he felt like he was making no progress at all. If it wasn't for the money he might have thought to give up, tell them the fool was dead for good and try to haggle for half the pay. Just then a pale hand shot out from the sand, causing Ali to jump back with a fright.
He saw the hand slowly begin to sink back down into the ground and he reacted fast, tossing the shovel to the side and diving down onto his stomach to grab the towering wrist. With all of his might he rose to a crouched position and began to pull. A wrist became an arm, and then an arm became a head, and finally the upper half of Duncan's body was free. Each time, something new emerged from the sand Ali shot to grip it with his free hand, eventually pulling Duncan fully free and sending them both falling into the sand.
Duncan pushed himself up to his knees, coughing violently as centuries of sand hacked their way out of his lungs. Ali stared at him in shock. Despite his briefing on the situation, he had to admit he'd expect to bring back a corpse. Just how was this man alive? He had more sand in his body than oxygen?
Duncan whipped around, instinctively grabbing for the Ebony Blade only to be met with empty space where his scabbard should be. Panic flared briefly within him, his warrior instincts kicking in as he prepared for a fight. His eyes darted around, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings, nothing to use a a weapon. Nothing to use to his advantage.
Ali stepped back, raising his arms to show he meant no harm.
“Whoa, whoa! Easy there, friend,” he said, his voice calm but edged with caution. “I’m not your enemy.”
Duncan breathed heavily, sand still falling from his mouth with each ragged breath. He took in the man before him. He didn't have the appearance of a thief, or a scoundrel. His pristine white robes gave him an almost angelic glow. Perhaps this was a guardian sent from above, perhaps Merlin had provided an accomplice to assist in Duncan's revival. Whoever the man was, he had rescued Duncan from his sandy grave, and for that he had earned at least a few moments of the knights trust.
"Who are you?" Duncan managed to cough out, his voice raspy from centuries of disuse. "Where am I?"
The man lowered his hands slowly, pointing to his own chest casually as he spoke.
"I am Ali." His tone suddenly casual. He gestured out towards the seemingly endless expanse of the desert. "In general? You are nowhere. In particular? You are in the grand desert of the Wadi Rum. I am Bedouin, my people have traced and tracked these sands since the sun began to rise in the East."
Duncan’s mind struggled to piece together what had happened and where he was. The last thing he remembered clearly was the final battle against Mordred, the clash of swords, the flash of betrayal, and then... darkness. How had he ended up here? And where was Merlin’s voice, the one that had guided him out of the abyss?
"Merlin…" Duncan’s voice was a hoarse whisper. "Where is Merlin?"
Ali hesitated for a moment, moving to pick up his shovel before replying as he moved over to his camel and slid it back into his pack.
"Merlin is waiting for you my friend. But we must move quickly, the desert is a dangerous place, especially after nightfall." He took his canteen from his bag and unscrewed the top, handing it to Duncan.
Duncan's joy was palpable as he peered into the strange plastic container and realised it was filled with water. He began to chug the water before pouring it over his face and eyes. He hadn't even realised the canteen was empty, and Ali stood, mouth agape, at the sight before him. The white-robed man stomped his way over to Duncan and snatched the canteen from him. Attempting to pour some water out onto his hand, he was only met with droplets.
"That was our only water, you fool! We have days of journey left!" He stormed back over to his camel, angrily shoving the canteen into his pack. "We will need to refill it at a well now." He grumbled, pulling a sun-stained map from inside his robe and studying it. He scowled as he mounted his animal and held out a hand to lift Duncan onto the back of it. "Come, I can get us to one before the sun sets if we are quick."
Duncan's mind was awash with confusion. Confusion about where he was, about when he was, and about who he was. It was like he had all the pieces of the jigsaw but couldn't fit any of them together. Sparse images of faces he didn't recognise were all he could struggle to visualise. The only thing he could see clearly was the sneer of Mordred during their last confrontation. That was a memory that never left him in the darkness, but not one he chose to remember. He snapped himself out of his daydream, speaking up for the first time in ages.
"Ali, how long has it been since I was put into my trance? What year is it?"
Ali glanced over his shoulder with a curious eye and a puzzled eyebrow raise. Just who was this guy? What year is it? What kind of a question was that?
"It is 2024, my friend." Ali gave a straightforward answer, he wouldn't receive a reply from Duncan anyway. A feeling of shock rippled through him, as if he had been struck by an arrow. Had he really been asleep that long? What must the world look like outside of this desert? Eventually he worked up the words to speak up.
"And what of Camelot? Who rules her now?"
Ali almost stopped the camel at this, turning over his shoulder to look at Duncan direclty in the eye.
"My friend, I have no idea what you are speaking about. Camel-lot? Is this some place to buy camels? Whatever, it doesn't matter. We are almost at the well." He rounded the haven of water in the middle of the barren wasteland and they both dismounted, Ali handing duncan the canteen to fill and he himself taking a small tin cup from his pack.
Ali began pulling up the rope in the middle of the well until the bucket full of water reached his hands. He poured water into his cup and handed it to Duncan to fill the canteen. Sweet relief filled them as they drank. Duncan looked up at the endless blue sky, then traced his gaze down to the horizon, where the familiar mirage of a blue ocean taunted him in the distance. Then, just as he was about to look away he saw a mast poke up from this ocean. A small black dot that was gradually growing larger. He hit Ali on the arm with the back of his hand and pointed.
"Ali, look. Another of your 'Bedouin' friends?"
Ali squinted his eyes staring into the distance trying to make out the figure. They both stood in silence as the rider got closer. He was on the back of a camel, making its way towards them at a casual, almost slow pace. His pitch black robes provided a striking silhouette against the blue of the sky.
"Yes, yes. I know this man very well. He will assist us with the rest of the journ-" He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widening as they locked with the riders own pale set. A small gasp escaped his lips as he hurried back to his camel, shakily retrieving the rusted service revolver. Duncan looked at him, confused.
"Ali! What is the meaning of this?"
Ali didn't reply as he moved back into the riders line of sight and stood side on, extending his arm forward and pointing the gun at the black figure. A shot rang out, breaking the droning silence of the desert, and Ali's white robes were stained red as he fell into the sand. Duncan froze, he knew not what manner of spell this was, but he knew without any sort of weapon he was useless to fight the sorcerer. His eyes drifted from Ali's body up the rider as he approached.
The man casually rode toward Duncan, cradling his Jezail rifle over his arm, not even bothering to hold the reins of his camel. The animal, adorned in beautiful red cloth, instinctively kneeled, allowing the man to gracefully step off onto the sand below. Without a word, he strode over to Ali's lifeless body, looked it over briefly, then lifted and inspected the revolver in his hand. He glanced up at Duncan.
"He is dead."
Duncan hesitated, every bone in his body screaming at him to leap at the man and strangle him.
"Yes... why?"
The man undid his face covering, revealing dark skin that contrasted against his piercing pale grey eyes and a well-trimmed beard with a heavy mustache. A coy smile played on the corners of his lips.
"He drank from my well."
"As have I."
"You had my permission."
There was a pause in the conversation.
"He saved me from the desert. He was guiding me out of this place!" Duncan's voice wavered with anger.
The man jerked his head in the direction of Ali's corpse. "That?"
“Yes, that.” His voice tinged with malice.
“He was an outsider with no business in the Wadi Rum. No business drinking from our well.”
“He told me he was Bedouin, that his ancestors had ridden these sands for millennia.”
The man let out a laugh, stepping closer to Duncan and holding up the revolver, displaying its rust and disrepair.
“No Bedouin would ever let his weapon fall into this state. The man was a stranger to this land. I’ve been tracking him for days and only left him alive to lead me to you.”
Duncan's mind was racing. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. The man in black mounted his camel again and began to speak.
"My name is Mehdi. Your ally Merlin sent me to find you. Unfortunately, it seems Mordred also caught wind of your whereabouts and sent his own agent to intercept before I got to you. Come, take his camel for your own. I will take you to my tribe. We must reach there before nightfall."
He turned on his camel and began slowly trotting off the way he came.
Duncan rubbed his forehead, overwhelmed by the events. How could he trust anyone after what had just happened? He looked over his shoulder at the endless horizon. As far as he could see, he had two options: wander aimlessly forever or take another risk with Mehdi and potentially get out of this hell.
He climbed onto the camel and gently spurred it forwards to catch up to Mehdi. He rode next to him, the relentless sun beating down on the two as they made their way further into the desert.
@DocTachyon Wow! Thanks so much for this it's amazing!
Application for my second character! Been thinking over this one for a few days now hope it's cool! I was thinking of having him have partial memory loss from the centuries of hibernation at the start of the RP.
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